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Thursday, 31 May 2012

“What are you blathering on about
you mad old bint?” I hear you ask with bemusement.

Well you see the thing is that I have
to do reviews on things and stuff etc etc etc and that way my blog will become
an internet sensation. But quite frankly I’m sick of reviewing stuff, I done
like two now and my belly got all sore.

'I have come for you'

So I had a butcher’s at some
other people’s reviews and then just did a cut and paste jobby. Sorted.

The aluminium foil is described
by Inabootery as “the best foil I have ever used.” Why? Well, because “The
dull side teases you with a resolute determination not to reflect light as
playfully as the reverse; the shiny side sends dancing light around the kitchen
like a mirrorball might illuminate the dancefloor of Heaven.”

Itsmewizzard has tested the
product and has found it to be, far superior than any other at creating shield hats
to ward of aliens, as the “extra shininess of this top grade foil means that
their probe rays are deflected back with stunning accuracy.”

Mrliamo, a truly creative
individual, wrapped his belongings in the foil and was able to successfully convince
those around him of his increased wealth which inevitably led to him obtaining
a wife.

However, more to my taste is Monkeycop who protected the soft
furnishing from his humour related incontinence after convincing his wife she
had slept for a hundred years by drawing crease lines on his face and wearing ‘old
man clothes’. The tin foil on the furniture also helped to give a bit of a
futuristic look to the home, try it out yourself or don’t. Who gives a crap?

However I end with a word of
caution from Steve Maloney who reminds us not to rush so quickly into blind
purchases “I misunderstood the description of the product as an 18" foil
and was killed in a swordfight. Shame on you.”

Tuesday, 29 May 2012

Almost nobody gave a crap about it and those that did were
left perplexed and bemused.

So I thought it was the right time to conduct an in depth
and highly critical review of this brand new youtube sensation. At least it
will be a sensation.

So let’s have a butcher’s:

None of us were born with a true understanding of the world
around us, however we were all born with an innate curiosity, we reached out
into the blurry ether to touch and feel the universe, using our limited senses
to try to make a crude interpretation of what lay beyond our fingertips.

Many of us were satisfied with what we found and just stopped
looking but there are those who remained curious:

The man you have just watched is known as Chan Walrus. I
believe he is some sort of space adventurer (manily due to the fact that he refered to
himself as “Chan Walrus – Space Adventurer”), and it is his journey in to the
unknown that we witness when we watch the internet sensation thingy:

What is it saying to us? Is it merely what it is? Or is it
more? Does the juxtaposition of the movable and unmovable entwined within a transcendent
interpretation of the subject lead us to a deeper understanding of who we are?

I think it does.

I think some of you have lost the curiosity innate within
humanity and as a result you have become debased. Well reach out my friends!

Reach out into the void! Reach out to the depth and breadth
and height your soul can reach when feeling out of sight for the ends of being
and ideal grace!

For when you reach out into the void, that is when you touch
yourself.

Monday, 28 May 2012

There is one particular child to whom I recently emphasised the
benefits of combing over brushing. I wish I had been given such sage advice at
her tender age.

As it was, my mother insisted on brushing. Despite her own
hirsute difficulties, she believed that one hundred brushes a day was the way to care for unruly hair, having
read such instructions in a 1960’s hairdressing manual entitled ‘Then Benevolent
Bouffant’ which was first published in 1880 by a Madam Borelli going under the
pseudonym Mrs Gloria Smith on account of the Xenophobia of Victorian Coiffeurs.

I have to admit I was rather reluctant to have my hair
brushed. She would often have to lasso me, dragging me backwards, whilst I endeavoured
to escape with great muster and energy but ultimate futility. She became so aggravated
by this daily struggle that she decided to remove my hair in its entirety.

Sadly my powers of telepathy and precognition were greatly
reduced by this occurrence and, being such a young child with nothing but my
long hair to distinguish me from the opposite sex, I was often mistaken for a
boy. So much so that when I was abducted in Tangiers and sold into slavery; I
became a goat herder. Usually a position reserved for male slaves.

Despite being gored on the third day by a wether of dubious
origin, I enjoyed my new role and wandered the North African mountains with a
song in my heart, but I pined for my motherland and decided to make my
escape. After leaving my herd in the dead of night, I made my way to the coast.
I had learned enough rudimentary French to convince an old seadog to let me work passage to mainland Spain
aboard his fishing vessel.

not the wether in question

We made it to Granada within
a week and I promptly set about trekking across the Iberian
peninsula on foot. However I was no Bear Grylls. Consequently, within
just 36 hours of my arrival, I collapsed from malnutrition and exhaustion.

I was taken in by a local baker and his young wife, Maria Rodriquez Elizondo, whose
cousin, José, had a basic working knowledge of English and at last my story
could be told! The family kindly contacted the local authorities but
unfortunately at this time Spain
and the UK had rather tense
relations due to the Falklands crisis and
there was toing and froing between governements; neither side willing to show weakness.

Forced into a corner, through their own pride, the British Government
decided to use force and sent in a small SAS contingent; Delta Squad. It was a
dangerous move and although they were well trained and well prepared, they
hadn’t bargained on the strength of the Spanish resistance (the last bastion
against Franco) becoming involved, for
no clear reason.

Those farmers were fierce and managed to take out eleven of
the twelve men in Delta Squad. But one man, Bob, survived, he managed to get me
safely into a passing helicopter, largely thanks to a Sikh and his
unbelievably strong turban which he wore despite suffering from alopecia universalis.

Needless to say, we made it back to the UK in one piece (albeit in complete
secrecy) and I was delivered home to my waiting family, who mistakenly believed
me to be ‘hiding somewhere’ and hadn’t noticed my significant absence from the
household.

By this time my hair had grown back, almost to its original
length, however, not having learned her lesson, my mother hacked it
off again.

Thursday, 24 May 2012

Ooh look it’s all shiney and summery and birds are singing
and lawns are a’mowing.

In’t all lovely, like in one of them butter adverts?

No. No it bloody well isn’t.

Apart from the blazing sunshine, which does absolutely
nothing, except cause searing pain in my face, there is heavy, sweltering heat.
No I don’t want to go frolicking on the beach, or skipping through the fields,
because I feel like a great heffalump of flabby chavness is sitting on my face.

This is, of course, worse at night. Because then you are
left with no choice but to attempt to get a breeze through your nether regions
by casting open all the windows in the house and exposing yourself to the great
wild menagerie outside your walls.

I’m not just talking about randy cats and broody badgers,
no, tis the neighbours I refer to. The social dynamics of those I live in close
proximity to would cause baboons to be disgusted at their lack of class.

Their bizarre discussions regarding petunias after two and a
half bottles of Lambrini are nothing, nothing compared to their pre-copulation rituals
involving Tina Turner, vodka shots and “Sing-star”.

It would be the stuff of nightmares except for the sad fact
that I can’t sleep for long enough to actually have any.

Tuesday, 22 May 2012

So I have been told by a
guru that you are all interested in reviews and profiles on celebrities and all
that tosh; so that is what my blogs should be about.

In reference to this I
have decided to review the film: The Dramatic Chipmunk:

Now there are many different
versions of 'The Dramatic Chipmunk'. There is a minute long one with some
Japanese girls, there are a few with 'hilarious' paint-shop-pro extras and then
there are a load of other dramatic animals cashing in on the original 'Dramatic
Chipmunk':

However none quite have the
gravitas of the original. I feel that 'The Dramatic Chipmunk' speaks to
us in a way that many other films cannot, tis not the unexpected which reaches
us, for we know it shall be dramatic, and we now that the drama shall come
forth from a Chipmunk, yet the gratification we obtain through the visual representation
of our expectations still draws a joy which cannot be replicated:

And thus on this
revelation we end this exploration of the deeper meaning in that which we find
and turn our attention instead to the trivial:

Monday, 21 May 2012

I reckon what I’m gonna do is get myself a secret base
somewhere and start amassing my army of chaos to take over the world, I’m
getting pretty itchy feet and need to get the plan into motion.

I’m gonna have one of the big boards laying on the ground
with a map of the world on it and a load of well dressed monkeys would be
pushing stuff around on it. There would be one for the earth and one for the
moon, then when we’ve done them we’d move onto mars and the asteroid belt.

I’d have a whole load of scientists in a room who’d be
inventing all new types of things like face melting chocolate and cars with a
turbo button and pens that make you fly.

Then when I have taken over the world I would make it a bit
like the Hunger Games – so that everyone is so focused on being hungry that
they forget about their crazy despot leader. I got that idea from Robert Mugabe
and he seems to be doin’ alright.

Then if like that git Bond came along then I’d just offer
him a job and loads of women, cos it’s not like he ever gave a crap about
anything else; I’d throw in a company car as well and then he would be my
bitch.

Then to top it all off I would make myself a superhero, a
bit like iron man only so much better cos I don’t like him, so maybe more like
batman. Anyway, one of the ones that isn’t magic – so I would make myself a superhero
and go round doin a bit of this and a bit of that. Then this whole façade would
make people think – “oh yeah there is a hero trying to take down the evil
dictator. Cool, I’ll just keep eating my nancho’s cos I’m not needed.”

Friday, 18 May 2012

You love it when I talk about it dontcha? Cos you don’t have
a clue what I’m going on about!

Well now you don’t have to worry anymore, because I have a
new blog, which will be solely dedicated to ‘The Amazing Story of the Thingthat Happened’, and it will be on that blog where I shall post updates and
photos and footage and bloopers, and then when all is ready to go I shall be
posting the episodes! WOOT WOOT!

I am currently gearing up to film episode four, having
completed episode three to a high quality – including the casting of a porcelain
cat. But I won’t be telling you no more of that, because it will only be for
people who like the facebook page, or go onto the blog.

Thursday, 17 May 2012

This is a stern letter which I shall be sending to the
corporate giant, Tesco.

To Tesco Representative,

RE: Tesco Classic Coffee 300G

Ordinarily I would begin any letter, or even e-mail, with
the word ‘dear’, however due to my recent dissatisfaction, I feel this would be
inappropriate.

I am not a fussy person, but I do have my likes and my
dislikes. I also have specific dietary requirements and as a result, the scope
of victuals I may consume is severely limited and many of the foodstuffs I
typically enjoy have become inaccessible. This makes me sad.

Therefore you can see it has become particularly important
to me that I am able to enjoy the limited fare to which I am permitted.

As a large, some would go so far as to say ‘super’, store you
have a vast array of brands available, local brands, foreign brands, brands the
likes of which I have never seen. Yet I have been unsatisfied with such
superfluous brands and have chosen instead to consume your very own ‘Classic
Coffee’.

Being lactose intolerant, I must have my coffee black, but
not too strong. As a result I have a heightened awareness of the flavour, and
any changes which may occur within the coffee will be more obvious to me than
to perhaps another consumer taking their coffee with lashings of cream, milk, demerara
sugar and those little chocolate bits.

Thus I come to the nitty-gritty of the grievance.

I declare that at some point between March 26th
and April 28th the year of our Lord 2012, you, the accused, did
change the recipe of your so called ‘classic coffee’ without due warning to
those of a sensitive nature.

There was no email or text message warning me that such a recipe
change had occurred. There was no note on the label excitedly shouting ‘new recipe’
and there was no note given to the delivery man to warn me of such a potential
threat.

I can only assume that you did not wish to publicise a
change to the recipe, fearing a backlash from those who would be all too aware
that the change was not for the better. In fact I suggest that the reason you could
not publicise a new and improved recipe was due to the simple fact that you
were all too aware that the recipe had not been improved, it had, in fact, been
fundamentally compromised.

The current flavour bears no resemblance to the previous
flavour, the colour is fouler, and the stench is something to be reckoned with.

I understand that you may accuse me of being mistaken,
wishing that my reputation, rather than yours, be the reputation which is discredited as a result of this sad encounter. However due to my penchant for
irregular and unnecessary bulk buying, it just so happens that I still have a
cupboard full of the old (and markedly better) recipe coffee, that cupboard now
includes a couple of 300g jars of your new ‘classic coffee’ (I am sure that you
can now see the reason for the quotation marks) so that if you so desire we may
meet, break open a couple of jars of coffee and directly compare the two.

Just remember that due to my dietary requirements I cannot
have biscuits.

If, however, you are willing to take me on my word alone and
accept the truth about the diminished quality of your ‘Classic Coffee’ then I
would request a refund for two 300g jars of the stuff.

I would also a request an apology, as the change in the
recipe made me sad and I now feel bereft, having lost the beverage which has
acted as my companion for so long.

I have included a video in this e-mail so that if my words
have not been enough to fully convey my dissatisfaction, then perhaps these
images and sounds will somehow help you to understand my suffering.

Wednesday, 16 May 2012

Do you know what the title means? NO? Well neither do I
really, I had a tune in my head and it seemed right.

But what I was trying to convey in that non musical manner
was my rage and frustration at the constant interruptions to my concentration
and creativity by those masters of destruction… the PPI calls.

Now the buggers aren’t even real, half of them are just
recorded voices, the same recorded voices with the same messages, and no matter
how much you scream down the phone they still patiently tell you how many
thousands of pounds you’re owed.

git

No, No I’m not, I don’t know where you get these records
from!

I don’t know if they are worse than the real ones though…
the poor befuddled Filipinos at the other end of the line.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against anyone for
being from another country, but at least they should have a rudimentary
understanding of the language of the people they are speaking to.

I mean I wouldn’t expect to be able to deliver good customer
service to the French. Although that is mainly due to the fact that I hate the French…

Its gotton to the point now where I try to gain some mild
satisfaction from hearing their little confused voice at the other end of the
line when I refuse to speak to them. They go on for ages! Like ages… Hello?…. Hello?….
…. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. Hello?

I used to just leave the phone on the side and walk away,
but now I listen. It makes me giggle. BUT IT IS WRONG!

They should not be distracting me!

Next time they ring I’m just gonna say ‘poo’… like every
time they try to speak, its gonna be like ‘poo’… and they’ll be all confused,
and maybe cry.

Monday, 14 May 2012

I have been poking around the internet and looking at funny
things that make me laugh, which is only slightly better than looking at awful
things which make me laugh, because interspersed between the awful things that
make me laugh there tends to be a few awful things that make me wretch. So it
is usually safer to look at funny things that make me laugh. Like beedogs.

Where was I? Monkeys!

Yes I was poking around and it got me to thinking, what would I do if I had a monkey?
Now, yes technically I already have a monkey in my employ. However that monkey
is not my monkey, he is his own, rather unreliable, monkey.

So, just to let you know:

If I had a monkey...

Chaos Army of Monkeys

I would clone the monkey and then I would have many monkeys.
I would then dress the monkeys as bell boys, and graft giant wings on their
backs. Then I would stand at an open window and cackle, sending the monkeys on
their way shouting ‘Fly my prettys fly!’ I wouldn’t care if the monkeys didn’t
come back or died or something cos I wouldn’t really be sending them anywhere,
its just that ever since I was smaller I wanted to do that, so that is what I
would do.

Butler
Monkey

I would send the monkey to a butler training academy and
then have a monkey butler who would serve me pims on the lawn and set up
croquet for me. Then, when I get bored of making up the rules and cheating,
the monkey would pack up the croquet and say ‘will that be all m’lady?’.

Dancing Monkey

I would send the monkey to a dance academy and then the
monkey would learn interpretive dance as well as some street dance and maybe
some two-step (for the old dears) I would then send the monkey out to busk and
he would put down a cap and people would throw money in the cap and then he
would say ‘thanks guv’nor’ and bring the money-filled cap back to me. I might
also make him dance on the roof with a chimney sweep, but I haven’t confirmed
that idea yet.

Working Monkey

I would dress the monkey in my clothes and send the monkey to
work in my place. Very few people would notice the difference between me and
the monkey, and those that did notice the difference would be too polite to say
anything to my face although they might whisper ‘she’s let herself go’ in the
corner.

Shopping Monkey

I would send the monkey to buy books for me so that I don’t
have to wait days for amazon to deliver them to me. If it is a really clever
monkey then it wouldn’t have to pay for the books and I would save enough money
to buy a boat.

I would dress the monkey as a ninja assassin and send him to
exterminate all the people and things I don’t have the time to exterminate
myself. Being a monkey he would be able to climb walls and enter buildings
through air vents so he wouldn’t have any trouble carrying out his orders.
Although he might feel guilty about his assassin life after a while so I might
have to keep erasing his memory and then retraining him to be an assassin, but
it would be worth it in the long run.

Remote control Monkey

Rather than using the buttons on the remote control I would
train the monkey to flick through the channels for me, this way I can keep my
hands under my blankie and I won’t get them cold, like I do when I have to
change channels with the remote. And if there is nothing on and I have to flick
channels or search through 'on demand' this can mean my hands will get very cold.
So the monkey would be very useful in this area.

Famous Monkey

I would make the monkey an internet sensation and then I
would put him on fiverr and say that he will give autographs for a fiver or maybe
do a dance video and then I will get so rich off the back of the monkey
that I could buy a small county, like Latvia.

Maybe you too can think about what you would do with a
monkey. Just think about it though, don’t tell me or write to me or anything –
people are starting to do that and it is a bit weird. So stop that.

Friday, 11 May 2012

So according to my secret guru I am supposed to be
optimising my blog. I haven’t been optimising it, frankly I can’t be bothered.
I just come one here and dribble a bit of nonsense and then bog off again.

But in order to take over the world I have to push my face
into yours. Eurgh.

But right now all I really want to do is listen to the funky
star wars theme…

Thursday, 10 May 2012

I thought about it and realised it was true and then I
thought about it a bit more in order to avoid doing anything else.

The thing which I have realised, which I will tell you about
in a moment right after showing you this picture:

What is it? I found it on my roof. It’s been there for a
while, but it wasn’t there before, like when I moved in. It’s from somewhere.
It looks like a bit of mud, but why is it that shape? And I would have thought
it would have disintegrated in the rain, but it hasn’t, it’s still there. It
hasn’t moved.

So maybe it is a bit of concrete, a concrete finger: A lithic-dactyl
if you will. But how did it get there? Did a bird bring it, did someone throw
it up? Has someone been in my garden in order to throw small phallic objects
onto my roof?

Anyhoo, I realised I am a bit of a procrastinator.

But in the days when I was imprisoned against my will (and
that life is never far away) I had a schedule, a routine. Yes it would involve repeatedly
hitting my head against a desk, but at least it was within a constructed
framework.

Now I am FREE!!! Woohoo and all that, but I have no order, I
have no timetable. But worse than that, the fundamental problem with my current
existence is that I have no one to rebel against.

So I am rebelling against me. And I don’t like it.

I’m setting myself deadlines and flouting them. I’m deciding
to have a nice lunch and then eating an entire packet of wine gums, because I
can. Because all you lot go can go crap in a bucket for all I care.

See! Rebellion. This rebellion must be crushed. AND CRUSHED
I SHALL BE!

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

I’m sitting in a dingy hole writing this. I’m rather cold
and rather frightened. I say frightened cos it sounds more exciting, but
actually I’m just extraordinarily bored.

I was sabotaged two weeks ago by a milk-filled chicken, that,
combined with going outside in the cold for too long, has ensured that I have
been barely functioning for the last fourteen or so days.

I have seen Jeremy Kyle shout at the unfortunates, watched
as J.B. Fletcher solved another absurdly unlikely crime, and been utterly bemused
by trying to work out what happens on countdown. I mean, what happens? What is
actually going on? Is that it? Is that actually it? People quietly working
things out on bits of paper? It’s like watching an exam. The only thing worse
that than that was the snooker; I got stuck on it after I lost the remote
control: I thought I would actually die from a lack of stimulation to the brain.

But after having been shut down and out of use for a while,
I now feel like a caged mongoose…

I’m scratching at the walls to break free! I need to run across
a meadow like them kids at the start of ‘little house on the prairie’ and then
I need to jump around a bit or shout at someone and go to a pub and engage in
some sort of hilarious banter… instead I’m here, loyally updating my blog to
engage with your absent face.

I’m referring to the pace at which life is moving, in
comparison to the pace at which I can keep one step ahead. Well I am not one
step ahead. I am about four behind.

You see my plot to take over the world involves working on
what will become a cult web-series. A web-series so dreadful in its
construction that people will watch in shock and awe, passing it on to their
friends who will all become so enamoured with its creator they will set about
making her Queen of the world.

However I have been hijacked to work on another thing, and
another thing, and another thing, and then I got a bit sick in my shoe, and
then I had to go and see some family members and then it was a month later.

Still no cult web-series under my belt.

Also I have been told by the carrier pigeons of the interweb
that when I write my monthly informative ‘how to’ guide, I must constantly
refer back to it. So I just did, right there. Job done.

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

As the faithful amongst
you know, I have been planning to do this whole ‘how to’ thing since at least
the middle of last week and at last your patience has been rewarded.

I’ve had a quick butcher’s
at some of the other ‘How To’s out there so I’ve got a good idea about how much
better I am compared to them.

So first of all I start by
telling you how much you want to know this thing which you have come here to
find out. So why do you want to know ‘how to not give a crap’?

Well it’s simple:

In the
world of over stressed work and social environments there are constant demands
on your time and energy. You have to be there for your friends, your family,
your spouse, your boss, your colleagues and those annoying little sprog like
things some of you may or may not produce. This constant clawing at our
resources wears down our compassion, we respond to the immediate request
without the luxury to prioritise, because all cries for help ‘must be heeded’.
But in trying to give to everyone we often have nothing left for ourselves or
those closest to us.

(I didn’t cut or paste
that paragraph or nuffin! Sounds well good dunnit?!)

In this
‘how to not give a crap’ guide I shall help you to loosen those ties of
obligation we naturally feel when we are asked for support, or notice someone
in need of help. This will then aid you in those situations when you know you
don’t have either the time or the energy to support but still feel that tug of
duty, that natural human compulsion to lend a hand and that dreadful guilt if
you do not.

(So by now I should have
convinced you that you do want to know what you came here to learn after all.
I’m supposed drag this out a bit more but to be honest I’m boring meself.)

Guilt is
based on our desire to adhere to the social norms and values we are surrounded
by in our culture. There are certain expectations placed on us as individuals
and in order to be accepted we must conform to these expectations. Part of
these expectations include being: a good mate, being kind, being generous, not
wearing that hat etc etc etc waffle waffle word count word count

So once
you realise this then you can begin to manipulate your own psyche (Orwell
referred to it as doublethink) it really is very easy.

(This is the main bit now,
you could have skipped forward to this part, if only you had known…)

this is mine

You
simply create your very own values (you can write them down if you’re weird)
outlining what or who you do give a crap about, and then you use this to reduce
your ‘compassion circle’.

At the
moment there will be things that your ‘compassion circle’ won’t include such as
the plight of football teams being relegated, or the shouty lady in the post
office that can’t get her own way, all you have to do is reduce it further and
then you can ignore anything outside the ‘compassion circle’. Some people can
eliminate the compassion circle altogether (I could say ‘like the Pope’ at this
point, but I’m sure I would be wrong, I’m sure those dark Emperor Palpatine
eyes are brimming with compassion.) however I wouldn’t recommend this.

It will
be difficult at first, those norms and values have been pushed into your skull
for a long time, but as you start to see the benefits of having more time and
energy to do the things you want, you will find it easier to just ignore people
you don’t like, wear the stuff you want and play your music at ‘non cowardly’
volume on a Sunday afternoon.

Disclaimer: I take no
responsibility for any actions you take as a result of learning ‘how to not
give a crap’. I also feel compelled to remind you that some actions will still
have consequences, which can include prison or ‘blanking’. But at least you
won’t give a crap.